


Not a Drop to Drink: CYOA Chapters

by itsjustliah



Series: Not a Drop to Drink [2]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25471315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsjustliah/pseuds/itsjustliah
Summary: Containment work for CYOA chapters for the Detroit: Become Human fic "Not a Drop to Drink".
Series: Not a Drop to Drink [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918144
Comments: 31
Kudos: 187





	1. Chapter 1

**If you've reached this page: Hello! You're in the wrong place!**

This work is a container for all CYOA chapters of [Not a Drop to Drink](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275460/chapters/61278340). Please start there!

You can access the mainline index for that fic [by clicking here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275460/navigate).

Stay frosty, androidfuckers.


	2. Chapter 5H

_I mean, he did say I could touch him… What’s the harm?_

You might be an idiot, but you’d be a downright dumbass to let this moment go to waste. You’re alone in the evidence room, where nobody will disturb you, and he’s literally given you permission to touch a place he’s described as _sensitive._ You’ll be kicking yourself later if you don’t at least take ten seconds to get your fingers on him again.

So you make your move.

Despite your determination, you still hesitate. “If you say so,” you mumble, inching towards him. Your hand hovers in the air, half-wavering, half-trembling. Dammit, you were so _sure_ five seconds ago. What’s changed?

Connor’s lips turn upwards in the smallest smile of acknowledgement. Then, he tilts his head to the side, exposing his neck and the underside of his ear for your disgusting perusal.

_Shit,_ you think. _He really will do anything I want. All I have to do is ask._

You try to act natural. “Still surprised how all this chalk managed to get under here.” Your hand floats to his shoulder. Nothing happens. You can keep going.

“My apologies.”

_No apologies necessary,_ you think, the monster purring wildly in your chest.

Your lips part slightly as your fingers reach for his neck again, this time, softly smoothing over the skin and taut synthetic muscle. It’s impossibly smooth, and velvet-soft. You almost want to press your nose up against it. Or your _tongue._ _Imagine._

“I’ll make this quick,” you promise, and he nods ever-so-slightly in acknowledgment.

Your fingers dip beneath this ear, sliding over the _dangerous_ spot that tempted you into this maneuver in the first place. Connor stiffens beneath you, tensing. You feel him exhale at your ear. He’s _holding back._

And that just won’t do.

Your lower lip curls under your front teeth. At Connor’s ear, you twist your hand, replacing your faintly-textured fingertips with the hard ridge of your short fingernails. Your index finger traces a line on his synthetic skin. It barely travels an inch before _catching_ on a thin seam beneath the silicone. In a moment of weakness, or strength, you’re not sure _what,_ you slowly press your nail into the seam.

_“Ah… hah!”_

You take a shallow breath. Your finger continues upwards, nail pulling free from the small divot. With one last flick, you clear the last bit of chalk from his hairline.

“There.”

When you pull away, there’s no doubt about it. You’re practically glowing from all the blood pumping through your cheeks and lips. Hell, you’re _sweating all over,_ and _not_ because the damn android runs at a high fucking temperature. No, it’s because he’s _hot,_ and you’ve just discovered something _extremely_ dangerous.

Connor is _sensitive._

“Thank you, Detective.” He chimes with a nod, eyes focused on your all-too-intense expression, which you’re desperately trying to wipe off your face. “Again, I’m sorry to startle you.”

“It’s all good; I was expecting it that time. No surprise at all, despite what you might think.” You’re already giving excuses. That’s because you _know_ you did something _wrong._ You run a hand over the top of your head and exhale, but the heat just won’t dissipate. Not only that, but a familiar shame is worming its way in between the layers of excitement and desire.

_Congratulations, Detective. You’re the first civil servant to sexually assault an android._

“What’d we come down here for again?” You half-groan, half-sigh, turning your frantic attention towards the half-organized shelves of evidence. “God, I already forgot what we requested.”

“The evidence from the deviant-perpetrated murder in Chicago, Detective.” Connor gestures towards a large paper bag in the center of the arrangement of shelves. “Seems they didn’t reorganize that.”

“Thank fuck.” You exhale, hoping your feigned relief is enough to throw off those analytical eyes of his. “Let’s get to it, then.”

[ **> [Proceed to Chapter 6]** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275460/chapters/61903327)


	3. Chapter 5W

_Human or not, I’ve got principles, for fuck’s sake!_

You slap your hand down on your chest hard enough to make yourself wince. You’d hoped to make it look natural, like you were wiping off the chalk on your jacket, but instead, you probably just look like you’re trying to beat the living daylights out of yourself.

Funnily enough, though, it works. The blow is enough to force a deep breath in through your nose, clearing the humid heat building up from seconds spent in close proximity to the cute bastard. You feel your head clearing. You puff out a hard exhale and feel it pull the tension from your shoulders and jaw. Good.

Planting your hands on your hips, you turn towards Connor and shake your head. “No need, I got most of it. You’ll have to get the top of your head later.”

He brings a pensive hand to his mouth, then reaches up into one of the evidence shelves. “Actually, I believe I have a solution.”

His hand returns with a small square cloth. You lean forward and squint as he flicks it open and begins brushing the chalk dust off the top of his head. Surprisingly enough, he gets most of it off, despite not being able to see anything. Perks of being an android, you suppose.

Something else draws your attention, though. “You sure you should be using that? Isn’t that evidence?”

“Collected by the responding officers at the murder scene in West Havenbrook two weeks ago.” He swaps the cloth to his other hand to get the other half of his head. “I’ve already determined it’s of no use to our current investigation.”

“Ah. Got it.” You fold your arms across your chest and lean up against the evidence locker, watching the android finish his work. He’s pretty damn focused on getting it all. It’s cute. “They can get a little overzealous about grabbing shit they think is important.”

Connor nods. “Better to have too much than too little, I’d suppose.”

“You’ve got a point.” You roll your shoulders and turn towards the wall of assorted evidence. “Speaking of points, why were we down here again? That evidence we asked for, right?”

“Correct, though-- if you wouldn’t mind, Detective?”

You look back towards the android, who’s suddenly a few steps closer. His hand--and the cloth--are raised up towards your right shoulder. You glance down. Shit. There’s chalk streaked all over your shoulder and chest, likely from your successful attempt to knock some sense into yourself. It’s sweet that he wants to help, but after what you _just_ came close to doing, you’re not about to tempt yourself again.

“Oh, no, it’s fine, don’t worr--”

Too late. His hand brushes your shoulder, dragging the folded cloth square over and around the curve of your frame. The touch is surprisingly lightweight. You’d seen him handling things before, like that damn coin or that _fucking_ pen, but you’ve always expected _his_ touch on _you_ to feel heavy. Wrong, even. Of course, it feels right, because they _made_ it feel right.

You look up from your shoulder to his face. He’s too focused on the chalk to notice you staring. Good. More time for you to follow the trail of freckles on his cheek up to his ear. You can see every individual hair in its root, too. _That’s_ some kind of projection too, right? You’ve seen ‘naked’ androids before. What does it feel like? Can you run your fingers through it? God, and the way his eyelashes flutter with every blink. It looks so soft. _He’s_ so soft.

Is this what they meant about _designing_ him to work well with humans?

His hand lifts off your shoulders, then moves down your collarbone and swipes _downwards._

“Okay, time out!”

You grab his wrist before the pressure gets anywhere _near_ the curve of your chest. There’s heat rushing to your face, but you’re getting better at ignoring it. Slowly, you pull his hand away from your body, then pluck the cloth from between his frozen fingers and dust your own damn boob off.

“I appreciate the concern, but I can handle _this_ area, thank you very much.”

When you raise your hand to hand back the cloth, he’s still frozen. Not completely, sure, but he looks what you can only call stunned. His eyes are cast downwards, mouth slightly parted, and _God,_ is that the beginning of a pink _blush_ across his cheeks? 

Connor notices you staring, and he fills the silence before you can. “I’m sorry, Detective, I should have realized-- that action was inappropriate.”

The hesitant pause catches your attention. For once, you don’t think it’s something CyberLife programmed into his memory. In fact, it sounds like he’s actually at a loss for words. Actually flustered. Actually _embarrassed._

_The damn thing embarrassed himself._

You cut off a laugh with a snort. “It’s fine, Connor. People forget all the time. Hell, most of the men in the precinct forget on the daily.” You place the cloth back into his half-outstretched hand. “Make it up to me by putting this away.”

“Of course, Detective.” The stunned look on his face remains as he follows your command.

You can’t help but feel bad for him. Without thinking, you offer another supportive pat at his shoulder. “You’re alright. Remind me what we requested, though?”

“The evidence from the deviant-perpetrated murder in Chicago, Detective.” Connor gestures towards a large paper bag in the center of the arrangement of shelves. “Seems they didn’t reorganize that.”

“Thank fuck.” You exhale. “Let’s get to it, then.”

[ **> [Proceed to Chapter 6]** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275460/chapters/61903327)


	4. Chapter 7H

_ > I mean, he did offer. I’d be stupid to pass up the opportunity… _

The timing’s ideal and the moment is perfect. You’re alone and he’s offering. You’ve got nothing to lose--well, nothing but your dignity, but after the fantasy from this morning, you’ve basically given up on that already. Besides, you’re injured, and this is _bound_ to make you feel better.

“Sure. Show me what you’ve got.”

Connor shifts backwards to sit on the coffee table, then folds his hands in his lap. “I must warn you detective, much of the content in this module can and will violate the Detroit PD’s sexual harassment policy.”

You store the memory of Connor saying _violate_ in the deepest, darkest recesses of your horny mind. “Guarantee you I’ve heard worse on the job.”

“While I’m sure you have, the department’s policy is very clear about comments of a sexual nature made to one’s colleagues, not to mention unwanted physical contact.”

_Oh, it wouldn’t be unwanted._

“You’re _fine,_ Connor.” You lift your wrist up and lay it across the back of the couch, then cross your legs. “C’mon. _Seduce_ me.”

He offers you a half-hearted smile. “If you insist, Detective.” 

Connor falls still and closes his eyes. When they open, something’s _different._ It’s not just the sultry, half-lidded look he’s giving you. The familiar eagerness is there, but it’s not the same. No time to think about it, though, because the rest of him has fallen into the program: one upturned corner of his smile, suggestive eyebrows, a shift forward to better gaze up at you.

_“Detective,”_ he begins, and thank _fuck_ you steeled yourself for this, because you would _not_ have been prepared for dulcet undertones of his _very_ seductive voice. _“I get the feeling you haven’t been particularly forthcoming with me.”_

His fingers unbutton the clasp at his collar, allowing his jacket to flutter open. Another finger loosens his tie just enough to be comically disheveled. _“I don’t suppose there’s any other way I could convince you to talk?”_

You swallow the spit pooling under your tongue. _Holy shit._ You’d analyze what’s happening but your mind fogs with desire and words are hard. _Fucking--perverted-ass CyberLife Programmers._

He stands, and a jolt of panic rushes through your rapidly-heating face. You can’t just sit here and take it. You can’t let him know you enjoy it. Fuck. _Fuck!_ Why didn’t you think of this _before?!_

“I could be convinced.” You flash him a sneer and uncross your legs. Thank _God_ banter comes so easily to you. “What’re you offering?”

With a confident scoff _\--oh God--_ the android leans over you, planting a palm on the couch just behind your shoulder. He’s close. Too close. The scent of pressed linen and thirium floats through your nose. 

_“Something you want, Detective.”_ He lifts a hand up towards your face, but pauses just a millimeter away from your skin. In the air before your mouth, his thumb strokes over the invisible line that _would_ have been your lips, if he wasn’t deliberately avoiding touching you. _“Something I want, too.”_

 _Oh, no._ You think, maintaining the fake smirk on your lips as long as you possibly can. _This was a bad fucking idea._ Your heart’s racing, pumping blood to your reddening face, ears, and _other_ extremities. You shift slightly in your seat, and the friction against your sex alone is nearly enough to make you mewl. You’re almost glad he’s not touching you, because if that thumb _did_ touch your lips, you probably wouldn’t be able to resist sucking on it.

“What makes you so sure that’ll make me talk?” You purr, leaning back into the couch cushions, if only to get a little further away from that hand and _that face._

Connor chuckles low in his synthetic throat-- _sweet mercy--_ and lets his hand fall to hover over your stomach. Try as you might to hold his gaze, your traitorous eyes follow it downwards as it _extends two fingers and traces the air just above your inner thigh._

 _“I can be_ quite _persuasive, Detective.”_

He winks-- _God save you--_ and leans back.

Then, he sinks to his knees.

_Holy fuck--_

You leap up onto the couch, practically scrambling up and over the back cushions, just to get _away_ from those eyes and those _parting lips._ Your spoon-bound wrist protests, but it’s not at all as painful as the throbbing between your thighs.

“Okay, okay, you win!” You gasp, clinging to the couch like a startled cat. “Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Connor!”

The lewd expression drops off his face as quickly as a lightbulb turning off, and Connor stands, hands hovering hesitantly in the air. “I’m sorry, Detective, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

God, he really looks concerned. _Hurt,_ even. Guilt gnaws at your core. “You’re fine, it’s--for fuck’s sake, it’s not your fault. You warned me.”

“My warning could have been better.” He frowns. “Mentioning the amount of simulated physical contact necessary to operate the module--”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” You huff, wiping a hand over your face. “It’s not that, it’s--”

The sound of rushing boots echoes down the apartment’s hallway. Thank _fuck._ You don’t have to explain yourself.

With another huff, you hop down from your perch and join Connor by the coffee table. He fidgets slightly. God, you’ve really fucked him up, haven’t you? Add another item to the list of “Crimes Against Connor.” 

You reach for his shoulder--still warm, you note--and give him a few reassuring pats. “We’re good, really. I’m not mad.”

When you turn to greet the gaggle of officers flooding the apartment, he’s still cowering like a guilty puppy. He’s quick to hide it as soon as duty calls--his voice doesn’t waver as he gives his report--but you know he’s still worried, if only because the eager glimmer in his eye is gone.

_Shit,_ you think. _I’m gonna have to make this right._

You don’t stop to wonder _why_ you need to make things right with an android. The fact that he’s not human doesn’t even _factor_ into the decision.

For the first time, you’re seeing him as your _partner,_ and that’s a whole ‘nother problem in and of itself.

[ **> [To Chapter 8]** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275460/chapters/62087005)


	5. Chapter 7W

This is _not_ the time or place for this kind of shit. A woman is dead two rooms over, likely because she sexually assaulted an android, and the android in question--possibly a victim himself--just threw himself off a building. As badly as you might want to see what Connor’s seduction module looks like, you’re not that immoral. Not yet, at least.

_Besides, it’s not like he’d_ really _be consenting._

“No,” you sigh, ignoring the screaming horndog in your mind. “Let’s not make things more complicated.”

“You mean in our relationship as partners?” He tilts his head, genuinely curious. That look is going to kill you one day.

“Well, yeah, there’s that. That’s part of the reason why there’s a sexual harassment policy. Wanted or not, you don’t want your partner thinkin’ about that shit when you’re on assignment.” You unfold, then recross your legs. “I mean more in the ethical sense, I guess.”

“What do you mean, Detective?”

Shit. You’re going to have to explain consent to Connor, aren’t you?

“Androids don’t _want,_ right? They follow--or they’re _supposed_ to follow--their programming.”

“That’s correct.” He nods. “Deviants exhibit behavior that makes them seem like they have wants and desires, but it’s no more than a fault in their code. A bug, if you will.”

“Right.” You settle into the couch cushion and lean forward, cradling your injured wrist in your palm. “So an android running that _module_ doesn’t really _want_ to seduce the person in front of them, they’re just following instructions.”

“Also correct.”

You frown. This is tougher than you expected. “That’s where I find a problem. There’s just something about _making_ an android engage in that kind of stuff that makes me feel uncomfortable. Like, I know they don’t have free will or desires, but that still doesn’t make it right.”

Connor listens, LED spinning blue. “With all due respect, Detective, while your personal opinions are yours to hold, philosophically, there is no moral quandary with engaging in sexual relations with an android. Androids don’t need to consent, because they cannot.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the issue.” Your frown pulls tight across your lips as it deepens. “The law has all kinds of shit to say about sexual relations with people and other things that can’t consent.”

He purses his lips, then sits back. “Consider this, Detective: when you toast bread, your toaster has no free will to decide whether it wants to toast your bread or not. Does that make it immoral to use a toaster?”

“No, because that’s different. It’s a simple machine. It’s not smart enough to need consent. It doesn’t have a brain, or--or consciousness, or anything like that.”

“And neither do androids.” Connor answers matter-of-factly.

“I mean--sure, maybe _some_ androids don’t, but--” You feel yourself growing frustrated. There’s no use arguing, you _know_ that. It wouldn’t be right to stop here, though .”But what about you? Hell, what about the one that just threw himself off the balcony? You think _he_ consented?”

“I don’t know what _it_ thought,” the android corrects, voice darkening slightly. The tone only feeds the growing pit in your stomach. “But it appears to have malfunctioned during non-standard operating procedures.”

You stand, too aware of your clenching jaw, and turn your back on Connor, putting a few paces’ distance between you. A moment later, you let your own doomed curiosity get the better of you and look back towards him. “What about _you_ , Connor? If someone asked you to have sex with them, how would you decide whether or not to do it? After all, it’s in your programming. How do _you_ make the choice to _consent_ or not?”

His LED lights up yellow--then, for the slightest second, a concerning _red._ It’s gone as soon as it appears.

“If doing so would increase my chances of succeeding at our current mission…” He begins slowly, as if hesitant. Maybe he’s just doing it because he sees how upset you are. Maybe not. “Then it’s likely I would accept.”

“But would you _enjoy_ it?”

Connor frowns. For a moment, he looks legitimately lost. His eyes lose contact with yours as he searches for an answer. When he responds, it’s with more doubt than you’ve heard from him yet.

“I don’t know.”

The answer takes you by surprise. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re allowed to like things, right?” You throw a hand up in the air. “You said you _liked_ the music from earlier. Were you bullshitting me for the _mission_ or what?”

His expression is unchanged. “I… I don’t know.”

The sound of rushing boots echoes down the apartment’s hallway. _Great._ A reason to stop continuing this asinine conversation.

“Sounds like backup’s here. Let’s go get them briefed.”

He fidgets, still frowning, then nods. “Of course, Detective.”

When you turn to greet the gaggle of officers flooding the apartment, he’s still standing there like a lost child. He’s quick to hide it as soon as duty calls--his voice doesn’t waver as he gives his report--but you know he’s still worried about you, if only because the eager glimmer in his eye is gone.

_I took that too far,_ you think. _I’d better make things right with him._

You don’t stop to wonder _why_ you need to make things right with an android. The fact that he’s not human doesn’t even _factor_ into the decision.

For the first time, you’re seeing him as your _partner,_ and that’s a whole ‘nother problem in and of itself.

[ **> [To Chapter 8]** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275460/chapters/62087005)


	6. Chapter 10H

Your grip tightens on his wrist.

“Connor.” You murmur, ignoring the shame fighting its way up your throat. “Your name is Connor.”

Just saying his name sets you alight, both inside and out. Your pulse quickens, your breathing shallows, your muscles shiver and tingle. With every heartbeat, you feel your guilt and embarrassment fading into the background. You’re safe. You can do whatever you like to him--to _Connor._

And _God,_ do you want to.

“Keep your hand there, Connor.” You whisper, too giddy to say it too loud. When you release his wrist, his arm freezes in place. Obedient indeed. He _would_ obey, wouldn’t he? He’d be desperate to obey. To _please_ you. To be a _good boy._

You roll your hips against his waist, grinding your burning sex against the stiff length just below it. The android lets out a moan and bites his lip. His hand shudders at your thigh, smooth fingers just barely tugging at your flesh.

“Put your other hand above your head.”

He complies, slowly raising his arm and locking it into place, perfectly mirroring the other. It was a sight to behold, really, one _straight_ out of the fantasies you’ve entertained the past few nights. His eyes flicker between your face and the wall, artificial blush darkening on silicone cheeks. The longer you wait to touch him, the more frantic his gaze, until he forces himself to speak.

“D-Detective, please,” he stammers, “ _please_ touch me.”

Your smile widens into a grin.

“ _Where,_ Connor?”

He takes a few quick, gasping breaths. “A-anywhere, I--I want to _feel_ your hands on me, _ple--”_

You cut him off by grabbing his nipple between your thumb and forefinger. He squeals and arches his back. Still not satisfied by his reaction, you lean down to press your fingers to the skin beneath his ear, then dig into it with your teeth. That gets you what you want: a stuttered moan, a shiver of motion along the muscles in his self-restrained arms, a violent _twitch_ from the synthetic cock between his too-perfect legs.

“Is that good, Connor?” You purr, nuzzling against his ear.

“Yes-- _ah!”_ Another moan as your teeth get back to work. “Yes, Detective--very good!”

_“Good.”_

You slide your mouth down his neck, kissing and nipping at various points along the way to see which ones make him tick. He’s sensitive all over, unsurprisingly, but you’re totally okay with that. You’re sure that _actual_ Connor would be the same, especially if you were doing this _without_ his seduction module active. He’d be curious. Nervous, maybe, but _definitely_ eager to fulfill your expectations.

Shimmying lower takes your mouth past his collarbone to his chest. You can’t resist taking his nipple between your lips and pressing the flat of your tongue to it. The sounds he’s making spur you on, so you slide even further down, past his heaving chest, past his quivering stomach, until finally, your cheek grazes the tip of his cock through the tight boxer shorts. No use keeping those on, so your hands grab for the waistband and tug them off.

“D-Detective,” he pants hurriedly, “don’t--don’t look.”

You press your lips to the tip of the realistically-sculpted biocomponent.

“Oh, _Connor._ ”

The venom dripping off your voice does not go unnoticed by the android, who grits his teeth and whines. It only feeds the furnace growing hotter inside you.

“Tell me how _this_ feels.”

You take Connor into your mouth, and your fantasy comes alive. He tastes faintly of salted caramel, and each swirl of your tongue draws out more of the sickly-sweet lubricant. His bionic muscles tense by your ear and under your hands, shuddering with every breath. His cock twitches every time your tongue and lips pass over and around the underside of his sensitive head, and though you can’t see it, you’re sure he’s curling his fingers and toes.

Best of all, though, is the symphony of gasps and moans coming from up above. You can tell Connor’s trying to hold back, but the sensation is simply too much. He bites his lip, but it does nothing more than muffle the groans hitching in his throat. He holds his breath, but you take him deeper, and he’s forced to gasp for air.

It’s good. _Incredibly good._

_Just like you imagined he would be._

As the android grows close to reaching his limit, an incredibly dangerous thought creeps into your mind, one you’ll be carrying for a _long_ time after tonight.

 _I can’t_ wait _to do this with the real thing._

* * *

Less than an hour later, you’re stepping out of the compact shower room, towel hung around your neck. The android is gone, as is any evidence as to what you did with it. The display kiosk glows with a quiet _We hope you’ll come again soon!,_ a timer at the bottom reading out a countdown for the six minutes you have left in the room.

You sigh and start gathering up your clothes. All in all, you feel… pretty damn good. Two rounds with the android left you physically satisfied, and hearing the wonderful words and sounds coming out that pretty mouth of his left you emotionally satisfied. Maybe that’s why you don’t feel ashamed of yourself at all. In fact, you’re almost proud. This experience was 100% worth it. All you needed to do was give into your desires and push past that wall of guilt.

Now, all those pent-up desires were taken care of, and you could go back into the office without hyperfocusing on Connor’s impeccable jawline or fluffy hair. Hell, you might even be able to treat him like a normal coworker.

_Won’t that be something,_ you think, tugging on your pants. _A whole workday without imagining that tongue between my legs._

The only downside is going to be the lack of sleep, but you figure you can just slam one or two more Red Bulls. It’s not like anyone’s going to notice you’re more tired than usual. If anyone gives you shit, which they _won’t,_ you can just say you had a hard time falling asleep. Not like anyone is going to stop by your apartment and see what you’re doing at two in the morning.

Once you’re dressed again, you shove your wallet back into your jeans pocket and head out of the room. You check your watch-- _2:30 AM--_ and sigh. The place is practically empty now, a far cry from the two-dozen patrons you saw on your way in. Guess they’re all going at it or went home. You yawn, then wander out towards the exit.

The chill November air fills your lungs as you step outside, forcing a shiver down your spine. _Probably because it was damn warm inside the club, and even hotter in that room,_ you wonder. The idle thought reminds you of a random setting you’d glimpsed on the kiosk, a _temperature_ setting. Are there people out there who want their android colder, or worse, _warmer?_

Come to think of it, there _were_ a lot of other interesting customizations on that screen. _Praise Kink. Slave/Master. Dubious Consent._ Maybe you’ll try a few of them out the next time you swing by.

 _Next time. Shit._ You sigh and resign yourself to your fate. _I’m definitely coming back, aren’t I?_

You unlock your car and hop in, still shivering. The engine sputters to a start, with the heat kicking on a few moments later. Just as you’re getting comfortable, however, your phone starts to buzz. There’s only one type of call you get this late at night, and a glance at the caller ID confirms it-- _Detroit PD._

_Fuck._

You press _Accept_ and raise the phone to your ear. “What’s up?”

“Hello, Detective.”

You thought you were ready to hear his voice. You thought wrong.

It takes a moment for you to spit out a response. “Hi, Connor. Everything alright?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he begins. “An android-related murder has just been reported to the police, and we’ve been called to the scene. Would you be able to meet me there, or do you need me to pick you up?”

_Great._ What perfect timing.

“Mmkay,” you groan, running a hand over your face. “I’m gonna need to grab a Red Bull, but I can meet you there, sure. Send over the address.”

“Of course, Detective. I should arrive in about fifteen minutes.”

“Cool. I’ll send over an ETA once you get me the address.”

You hang up and let the phone fall into your lap. So much for sleeping--though now that you’re _working_ at this hour _,_ maybe they’ll let you take the morning off.

A few seconds later, your phone lights up again, displaying _one new text message from Connor (the android)._ You glance down, ready to swipe the address into your car, then freeze.

_Eden Club._

_“Fuck.”_

[ _ **> [To Chapter 11]** _ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275460/chapters/62657629)


	7. Chapter 10W

You clench your jaw. _I don’t want to think about that. About_ any _of that. This isn’t real, and I’m going to_ keep _it that way._

It doesn’t need an answer, anyway.

You press your lips to his and _oh,_ it’s been too fucking long since you’ve kissed someone, because despite the firmness being off, you find yourself completely and utterly deceived by the android’s mouth. He grunts at the force of it, fingers curling into your thigh, then tilts his chin upwards to return the passion with slow, unsure motions.

When you touch your tongue to his, he gasps again. It’s warm and wet, just like you imagined, but again, something’s _off._ You can’t help but wonder, even as you encourage him to kiss you back. _Would Connor’s tongue feel any different?_

It might. It probably did. He’s far more advanced than this model. His tongue is designed for a multitude of purposes. He probably has more muscle control over it than this android, who’s trying his best, but still, it’s not the _same._

You pull away to catch your breath and nip at the android’s chin. He tenses and shivers beneath you, though still manages to slide his hand up from your thigh to the curve of your ass. So eager to please, but so hesitant. Exactly what you asked for. What you _want_ from _him._

_But it’s not him._

You slide your nose along his jaw until it reaches his ear, then take the soft silicone lobe between your front teeth. The android squeaks and arches its back. Something _stiff_ and _throbbing_ presses up against your clothed sex, drawing a quiet huff from your throat. Even as you toy with the android’s sensitive ear, your mind wanders. _Would Connor be so unsure, he’d ask me to stop? Or would he hesitantly ask me to continue?_

As if on cue, the android stammers, “D-Detective, that-- that feels _too_ good!”

“Shh.” You croon, nuzzling at the soft hair curling around his ear. “Do you want me to keep going?”

He draws a shuddering breath, then nods. “Yes. Please, Detective, I-- I want you to touch me.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and your nethers. _I want you to touch me._

_You can touch me if you like._

Lust takes hold of the last of your doubts and crushes them in its throbbing grip. Your hand skitters down the android’s warm body and reaches for his prosthetic cock. The moment your fingers wrap around the base, he yelps and squirms. A dribble of liquid coats your palm as it slicks over the top. In your current state, it’s realistic enough to fool you.

“D-Detective-- _hah!_ ” He moans, clutching at your thigh, then the sheets. “Please, Detective, I want to _feel_ you!”

You oblige him by grabbing one of his nervous hands and planting it on your bare chest. His expression fills with joy and relief. Soon, his fingers are working at your breast with gentle motions, completely unaffected by the gasping and tensing your stroking below is causing.

The last sober fragment of your mind watches with a curious, somber air, even as you tug off your underwear and slick yourself on him. _It’s not real. None of this is. It’s too calculated. Too cold._

_It’s not him._

You bite your lip as you take him inside of you.

The android’s eyes roll back with pleasure. “D-Detec… Detective…!”

_It’s not him._

You grab his hair and tug his head back to the pillow, exposing his neck. The muscles tense and shudder when you roll your hips down onto him.

“God, you-- you feel so good, Detective!”

_It’s not him._

You press your chest to his and nestle into his shoulder. “Hold me.”.

He wraps his arms around your back and pulls you into a tight embrace.

“Fuck me,” you bark.

The android shudders. “D-Detective, I--”

_“Fuck me.”_

_It’s not him._

You squeeze your eyes shut as he--it--the _machine--_ thrusts into you, slowly at first, then picking up to a reasonable speed. It feels good. _Too_ good. It’s gasping and moaning with every movement. You can feel its synthetic heart pounding beneath your ear. Its fingers slide up and down your back before settling on your waist and shoulder. A soft _hum_ from below presses up against your pelvis, delivering those promised vibrations right up against your clit. You’d be ashamed to admit you were this close if you weren’t so immersed in the sensation.

It’s good. _Damn good._

_But it’s not him._

You clench your teeth and cling to the android. Tension builds between your legs. You’re so close. In the haze of pleasure that comes just before, one sorrowful thought pierces the fog.

_I wish it were him._

* * *

Less than an hour later, you’re stepping out of the compact shower room, towel hung around your neck. The android is gone, as is any evidence as to what you did with it. The display kiosk glows with a quiet _We hope you’ll come again soon!,_ a timer at the bottom reading out a countdown for the six minutes you have left in the room.

You sigh and start gathering up your clothes. All in all, you feel… pretty damn good. Two rounds with the android left you physically satisfied, and hearing the wonderful words and sounds coming out that pretty mouth of his left you emotionally satisfied. Maybe that’s why you don’t feel ashamed of yourself at all. In fact, you’re almost proud. This experience was 100% worth it. All you needed to do was give into your desires and push past that wall of guilt.

Now, all those pent-up desires were taken care of, and you could go back into the office without hyperfocusing on Connor’s impeccable jawline or fluffy hair. Hell, you might even be able to treat him like a normal coworker.

_Won’t that be something,_ you think, tugging on your pants. _A whole workday without imagining that tongue between my legs._

The only downside is going to be the lack of sleep, but you figure you can just slam one or two more Red Bulls. It’s not like anyone’s going to notice you’re more tired than usual. If anyone gives you shit, which they _won’t,_ you can just say you had a hard time falling asleep. Not like anyone is going to stop by your apartment and see what you’re doing at two in the morning.

Once you’re dressed again, you shove your wallet back into your jeans pocket and head out of the room. You check your watch-- _2:30 AM--_ and sigh. The place is practically empty now, a far cry from the two-dozen patrons you saw on your way in. Guess they’re all going at it or went home. You yawn, then wander out towards the exit.

The chill November air fills your lungs as you step outside, forcing a shiver down your spine. _Probably because it was damn warm inside the club, and even hotter in that room,_ you wonder. The idle thought reminds you of a random setting you’d glimpsed on the kiosk, a _temperature_ setting. Are there people out there who want their android colder, or worse, _warmer?_

Come to think of it, there _were_ a lot of other interesting customizations on that screen. _Praise Kink. Slave/Master. Dubious Consent._ Maybe you’ll try a few of them out the next time you swing by.

 _Next time. Shit._ You sigh and resign yourself to your fate. _I’m definitely coming back, aren’t I?_

You unlock your car and hop in, still shivering. The engine sputters to a start, with the heat kicking on a few moments later. Just as you’re getting comfortable, however, your phone starts to buzz. There’s only one type of call you get this late at night, and a glance at the caller ID confirms it-- _Detroit PD._

_Fuck._

You press _Accept_ and raise the phone to your ear. “What’s up?”

“Hello, Detective.”

You thought you were ready to hear his voice. You thought wrong.

It takes a moment for you to spit out a response. “Hi, Connor. Everything alright?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he begins. “An android-related murder has just been reported to the police, and we’ve been called to the scene. Would you be able to meet me there, or do you need me to pick you up?”

_Great._ What perfect timing.

“Mmkay,” you groan, running a hand over your face. “I’m gonna need to grab a Red Bull, but I can meet you there, sure. Send over the address.”

“Of course, Detective. I should arrive in about fifteen minutes.”

“Cool. I’ll send over an ETA once you get me the address.”

You hang up and let the phone fall into your lap. So much for sleeping--though now that you’re _working_ at this hour _,_ maybe they’ll let you take the morning off.

A few seconds later, your phone lights up again, displaying _one new text message from Connor (the android)._ You glance down, ready to swipe the address into your car, then freeze.

_Eden Club._

_“Fuck.”_

[ _ **> [To Chapter 11]** _ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275460/chapters/62657629)


	8. Chapter 13H

You hesitate. That’s all you need to seal your fate.

“You mean--” God, you must be beet red with how your eyes are widening and your mouth is tripping over its goddamn self. “You mean you--you _want_ me to? Ask, I mean.”

Connor thinks for a moment, then nods. “I think so.”

You’ve never screamed internally before, but you sure as fuck are now.

He wants you to ask. _He wants you to do it._ You’re too nervous to even _think_ about what _it_ is.

“Oh. Cool.” You can kick yourself for the dumb comment later. Your anxiety has peaked, which means you’re no longer in control of the runaway train that is your mouth. You shake your head and pretend you’re not about to throw up. “So, uh, do you wanna, uh, kiss?”

The android nods, expression calm. “If you’re willing to disregard the DPD’s non-fraternization policy for the sake of my curiosity, then yes, Detective.”

The casual mention of department policy forces a nervous laugh from your heaving lungs. “Yeah, don’t worry, I’m not gonna report you for sexual harassment, s‘long as you don’t do the same.”

“Of course not.” He smiles. “We’re in agreement, then.”

_Are we, though?_ You think in a panic. _Are we?!_

Too late. Lines have been crossed, and now, you’re committed. Best to get it over with quickly before you make even _more_ of a fool out of yourself.

“Right, cool, let’s-- let’s do it then.”

You shift on the floor, pulling yourself up from your knees to your feet. At the same time, Connor moves, scooting forward.

“Should I stand, too?”

“No! No, no, you’re-- stay where you are!” Shit. The panic you’re so desperately trying to hide worms its way into your voice. Calm. You’ve got to play this off as just some _friendly bonding activity._ No feelings. Just curiosity. Partners being pals and pressing their lips together. Nothing weird about that at all. “Just sit there, I’ll-- I’ll do it.”

He settles back into his seat, expression flat, though you can still spot the tension in his jaw and the slight fidget of his fingers. Is he nervous, too? About _this,_ or about the fact that he’s making his _own_ decisions now? Is it _right_ for you to be doing this if he’s _this_ nervous? Are you--

“Detective, are you alright?” Connor tilts his head upwards to better match your now-towering gaze. “If you are uncomfortable, we can stop.”

_Oh, honey,_ you think, _it’s just the opposite. I want to do this far too badly._

“No, it’s fine, I’m fine, really,” you reassure him, placing a sweaty hand on his shoulder. “Just-- close your eyes for me, will you?” _Because there’s no way I can do it while those beautiful eyes are looking at me._

He nods, then does as you ask, eyelash-heavy lids fluttering shut and _staying_ shut. He sways slightly, as he’s programmed to do, but holds the position, giving you the perfect opportunity to more closely examine his perfectly-designed face. You’ve spotted the freckles before, but now, you can see their myriad of colors, each delicately placed along his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His eyebrows are slightly asymmetrical, though you’ve never noticed it before. The silicone is pocked with the tiniest pores that contract and stretch as his cheek twitches--likely because your breath is tickling his face as you lean closer.

_A face made for kissing,_ you think. And you were going to do _just that._

Thinking makes you nervous, though, despite Connor’s consent, despite your caffeine-addled lust for the poor, unsuspecting android, despite the half-dozen dreams you’ve had of _stealing his lips with your own and pressing your tongue between them._ You want to _kick_ yourself for getting nervous now, but the feeling is there, and it’s trying to pull you out of the situation.

_I don’t fucking think so,_ screeches a dark voice from within. _We’re doing this._

No more thinking. It’s time to take action.

You sweep an errant bang out of your face with a few sweaty fingers, then lean closer and inhale. He smells of clean laundry, soft silicone, and a hint of the sour-metallic thirium that you’d spread across his lips earlier in the night. He exhales through his nose, and you feel the warm, dry air scamper across your lips and chin. You resist the urge to lick your lips and try your best to relax your jaw.

Then, you gently touch your lips to his.

You let it linger for exactly one second, then yank yourself out of there before you start hyperventilating. Your heart pounds in your chest, throbbing in your neck and the tips of your fingers. You swallow the spit pooling under your tongue and straighten up to stand.

Connor’s eyes flicker open. The same air of curiosity and wonder persists. “Is that all, Detective?”

Luckily, you have your banter on autopilot, despite the nervous nausea building in your throat. “Oh, don’t push your luck, Sweetheart. You want more than that, you’ll have to take me out on a proper date.”

“I see.” He doesn’t banter back. Instead, he brings his fingertips to mouth and brushes them against his lips. After a moment of hesitation, he adds, “I don’t think I learned very much, but thank you for satisfying my curiosity.”

“Sure.” You shrug. Your emotions, and the physical reactions they’re drumming up inside you, are starting to become overwhelming. Time to put an end to this. “Anyway, it’s late. I’m just gonna get to bed.” You jerk a thumb in the direction of your bedroom. “Lemme know if you need anything, okay?”

“Of course, Detective.” He offers you a pleasant smile, and you’re surprised your heart doesn’t break right then and there. “Have a good night’s sleep.”

He doesn’t comment on your stiff walk, or your thundering heartbeat, or the twitch in your smile. No, he lets you wander down the hall to your room without drawing attention to just how _strangely_ you’re acting.

When the door shuts behind you, it takes every ounce of strength you have not to collapse onto the floor. You manage to throw yourself onto the bed, at least, grabbing a pillow and curling around it with all the tension in every limb and muscle. Heat floods your face, squeezing tears from your eyes and gasps from your throat. With every breath, _guilt_ and _shame_ sink deeper into your gut like a stone in thick mud.

_You’ve made a terrible mistake._

Connor may have consented, but that doesn’t mean what you did was _right._ He doesn’t know any better. He doesn’t know what the act means to a person. To _you,_ who’s lusted after him since the moment you laid eyes on him. He doesn’t realize the disgusting nature of the thing you _proposed_ and _carried out._ He might have asked, but _you should have known better._

Deep beneath the horrifying guilt, you feel a dull joy, yearning to celebrate what you’ve accomplished. What you’ve _done_ to him. _His lips were so soft and firm,_ it croons. _His nose brushed against yours, and it was warm,_ it purrs. _He leaned a half-millimeter closer when you touched him with your mouth,_ it squeals.

Every joyful thought only drags you deeper into the pit of shame you’ve dug for yourself. 

_You’ve made a terrible mistake,_ your shame reminds you. _You crossed a line that should not have been crossed. You took advantage of someone who could not understand what you were doing._

_And the worst mistake of all: now, you’re left wanting even more._

[ **_> To Chapter 14_ ** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275460/chapters/63312829)


	9. Chapter 13W

You’ve already taken this far enough. You’re not about to push your luck even _further._

“No, no.” You wave your hand and let out your most convincing _not-_ nervous laugh. “It was a hypothetical question. Besides, I’m pretty sure the DPD has some strict policies on officers fraternizing with their supervisors.”

Connor pauses, then nods. “You’re right. I wouldn’t want to violate the Department’s sexual harassment policy, either.”

“There you go.” _Thank goodness he’s a rules lawyer,_ you think, _because I might’ve caved if he insisted we try it anyway._

“I’ll admit, though.” he continues, and the words shoot a pang of _fear_ into your stomach. “I am a little disappointed. I was looking forward to analyzing your reaction.”

_He’s disappointed._ Your mind takes a moment to savor those words. _He’s disappointed because he didn’t get what he wanted._

You let out another nervous huff. “The fuck do you mean by that? And I thought I told you _not_ to analyze everything in sight tonight. That includes me, you know.”

Your rambling doesn’t deter him from answering your question. He smiles and cocks a brow. “In all honesty, analyzing your behavior is quite fascinating. You’re quite difficult to read, Detective.”

“Rea--” You swallow. “Really?” _Is that a good thing?,_ you wonder.

Connor shifts on the couch to better face you, hands still folded in his lap. “Yes. Your reactions are often outside my--for lack of a better word--predictions.”

You cross your arms over your chest and hit him with your most suspicious glare. “Are you calling me _weird,_ Connor?”

“Only if you’d like me to,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Adjusting to human unpredictability is one of my features, but I’ll admit, you are _very_ unpredictable.”

“What, because I take random days off work without telling you?” You grumble.

“Nothing so large or readily apparent. In fact, they’re largely behaviors that humans would not notice.”

You’re not sure you like where this is going, but you let it continue anyway. “Like what?”

“Well,” he begins, pausing slightly. Is he-- is he _fidgeting?_ Is he _nervous?_ You clench your jaw as he continues. “For example, when I approach your desk, your rate of respiration increases from fifteen breaths per minute to twenty-one, on average.”

_Shit,_ you think.

“Huh,” you say.

“The rest of my observations are similarly insubstantial, such as changes in pupil dilation, resting heart rate, and perspiration, not to mention--”

You jump in to wrangle the conversation in the complete opposite direction of where it’s headed. “Connor, if you wanted to tell me I’m sweaty, you can just fucking _tell_ me.”

It’s crude, but it works. The android pauses mid-sentence, then _blushes._ “I-- I didn’t mean it that way, Detective. I’m sorry. You’re not-- _offensively_ sweaty.” He corrects himself before outright lying about human physiology.

“Oh, I hear you loud and clear, Sweetheart.” Banter. Banter is _good_ for getting yourself out of these holes you’ve dug for yourself. “Don’t you worry, I’ll shower before going into the office tomorrow morning, alright?”

Connor smiles weakly, LED lighting up yellow for a brief moment, before resuming its usual blue as his expression relaxes. “I’m sure the rest of our colleagues will appreciate that, Detective.”

“Smart-ass.” You mutter. “I’m heading to bed. Lemme know if you need anything, okay?”

“Of course, Detective.” He offers you a pleasant smile, and you’re surprised your heart doesn’t break right then and there. “Have a good night’s sleep.”

You manage to walk to the bedroom without making a complete fool of yourself. When the door closes behind you, however, you find yourself flung onto the bed, arms grabbing for a pillow to pull to your reddening face.

Connor _knows._ He fucking _knows._

He asked if you were going to kiss him. He noticed how your body reacts when he gets too close. He saw how you looked at him. Heard how your heart leapt up into your throat. Smelled the sweat squeezing from your pores when you thought too hard about him and his _stupid good looks._

Connor knows, but not enough to _understand._

Or does he? You’re not sure.

It’s just one more thing to throw onto the pile of _things to worry about all night_.

Unfortunately, it’s just about the _only_ thing you worry about all night tonight.

[ _ **> To Chapter 14** _ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275460/chapters/63312829)


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